


sticky and sweet

by orphan_account



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Lactation, Post-Movie(s), Wet & Messy, Worldbuilding, but also has a fade to black, so I don't know how to rate it, sorry - Freeform, unrealistic milk texture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things worth doing in the Citadel after the Return, and wasting one's milk while having fun with a Repair Boy is definitely one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sticky and sweet

Most women from the Milking Room, of the brave who had freed the water before they could know if they were allowed to, are spending the first days trying to find themselves a place in the slowly solidifying power structure of New Citadel. What is expected of them, and what are they willing to do? Do they even want to stay as a group now, when they are not connected by the power lines of the pumping machines anymore?

Their knowledge of the old order is patchy, but with areas of surprising depth, because while their movement was restricted, Joe and his sons seeing them as little more than organic decoration during some strategic conversations had the advantage of giving them some rare bits of information. They contribute with things they heard at the first assemblies. They carefully decide who to send to the later ones, after seeing how interminable a discussion with a hundred people in the room can get. By then, they had already got a chance of hearing the rest of the Citadel, and they feel safe enough to part ways.

Mara spends her first night on a ledge, enjoying the luxury of being left alone to cry. (“Stop crying, you cow, we ain’t giving you all this water to guzzle just to leak it out!”) In the morning Mara brings her food and news. The second day she spends two hours sitting at the middle of a bridge, just drinking in the vastness of space around her, and by the end of it, she starts to actually feel that her body is hers again.

Cut, who they used to call Sweet, is learning fighting together with the new recruits, side by side with her closest friends and determined to protect her freedom by any price. 

Fanny and Blue go searching for their children and end up bonding with two War Pups and three Future Breeders (they need to invent some new categories for them immediately), and participating in the chaotic group just forming around the kids, made of ex-Wretched parents, War Boys who love the Pups they raised, and ordinary breeders like them in search for the kids that were stolen from them. It’s good for the Citadel, the way they get to learn each other’s stories, words and ways, in a situation where they can see the same care in each other’s eyes. 

Many, named after her fertility, was stolen as an almost-adult, and remembers the ways decisions were made in her old tribe. She tries to talk about them with anyone who listens, cleaning and washing and sewing while clarifying in converstation things that had stood rusting in a corner of her mind for a long time, and she uses the new ideas she learns from others to build her theories further. She loves Assembly, and helps the Sisters with the cataloguing just so she can ask them things in the pauses - they use strange words and have fascinating ideas themselves. (She would love to participate in the deciphering of Joe’s notes too, but her reading grew slow after the long years of not being allowed to use it.) She hasn't decided yet between finding a new name and repurposing her old one, to refer to the power of Many, instead of One. Maybe that would be too much. But she is living in a time of great things coming true, so what's a bit of cheesyness?

About half of the group throws themselves into agriculture, craving physical movement and exhaustion after being made to spend their days sitting in one place for so long. The best thing about the collapse of the caste system is that if it won’t work out, they will have time to find some other useful thing to do. For now, being able to move freely under the sky is more than enough.

The thing about lactation, though, is that it can't be turned off just because one gets eliberated from the milking chambers. Some of them manage to stop it in seven days, and others are still leaking sometimes after almost twenty. Some of them want to feed the orphans, the difference deep enough in their hearts that they don't feel like being back on the machines. (They end up doing it in pairs at most, as close to the outside as possible, feeling the wind on their skin. It helps keeping the past in the past.) Some of them just empty their breasts with their hands, when the pressure is too painful. Daisy aims her last drops on the sand, thinking about how angry the Mortan would be if he could see this, spits on them and dries her hands on the sun-warmed rock. And then, there are those like Val.

She begins seeing the beauty in a group of Repair Boys the fourth day after the Return, at the first meal in the dining hall when she is not preoccupied with more pressing matters, and can just sit and let her eyes wander. All the men she's seen for years were the guards, the Mortan and his damn sons. She gazes at strong jaws and narrow hips now, wide wrists and strong fingers. She longs for the motor oil on their hands, after half a lifetime spent being kept apart, clean and passive. She wants to smear their paint.

The Boys from the group discover her interest with enthusiasm they fail charmingly at hiding. They have no script for an interaction, she was barely more than a mythical figure for them until recently, so they take some time before ending up at the same table. But soon enough they are trading jokes and offering bits of food to each other. She doesn't know exactly what to do, but things go smoothly. By the end of the meal, she is speculating with them about the things they could make from the milking machines – the obvious answer, “dust and smoke” is not a practical idea, but there are still many ways to turn their meaning on it’s head. Too bad it’s too early to joke about sex toys. Although she seriously hopes one of them will get famous for reinventing vibration – she have never met something like that, but she has heard the whispers. 

Afterwards they show her the wrecks they are working at afterwards, as the run on the Fury Road was apparently very fruitful. She is good enough at strategy that when the group melts away to regroup around a particularly interesting problem of the irrigation system the Citadel wants to extend, she manages to end up alone with the Boy she likes most. He’s a tall mechanic called Grip, close to her age, who is both witty and well-meaning in the half-competitive banter between the Brothers, and whose eyes got soft when he looks at her. Which he apparently can't get enough of.

He likes the curiosity and strenght in her, after the horrors he already knows about and which they are, for now, avoiding in their conversation. He feels a bit strange for the rare occasions they had been rewarded with milk for some exceptionally shine feat, even if at that point, not drinking the milk wouldn't have helped her any. His religion wasn't of the heart, but he didn't think too much about the world outside of the Garages either, and there hasn’t developed yet a coherent way to think and talk about this all. But for now, he is happy for her newfound freedom, and if she wants to enjoy it with him, well, he is glad to help.

Because she is also gorgeous, unlike anyone he has ever seen, plump and soft, and has tiny dimples on her cheeks nicer than any skin customizing the Boys could come up with. Her flesh must be luxurious to the touch. She takes his hand, and her skin is soft and warm. He holds her with utmost care.

They slowly climb the winding stairs until they find a tiny room, unused in the havoc of reorganizing. It even has a slit of a window, so they spend some time just looking out of it, slowly gravitating towards each other.

The Repair Boys spend their days just as half-naked as the War Boys, to Moon's delight, and she slowly traces his wide wrist (the part of him she noticed first), the veins on his arm, his broad shoulders. The paint on him is dry and is falling away as dust, leaving traces on her clothes. He turns towards her, and his eyes feel magnetic, so she steps closer, until her belly and breasts press into him. Her face goes into the nook of his shoulder, and his hands begin to trace her body.

She's softer than anything Grip has ever felt. His life was spent between metal and stone, lean bodies and doing things useful for the Immortan. What they are doing is unexpected and directionless (even if his hardening cock seems to have a clear idea of what to expect - but he can enjoy whatever may come), and looking into the infinite horizon, so different from his normal view to the Flaming Wheel on the stone in front of the Garage, he thinks about just how open-ended his life has become. Her unpainted neck feels wonderful to his fingers, the neat rows of her hair brushing his knuckles. With his free hand, he takes hers and starts kissing it, getting lost in the feeling of her chubby palm and delicate fingers.

She sighs, and as she leans back, he can see two dark spots on the dirty white topcloth she is wearing. Should he worry?

"They are just leaking. I don't have to give my milk away anymore, but they need a bit of time to understand that."

She gets rid of the wet cloth, and works a bit on her nipples, easing the pressure. Her fingers got sticky with the drops leaking out. He's just found his breath again after the sight of her half-naked, and is torn between admiring her viscerally for being so rich with milk, and trampling down on this feeling, given the circumstances. But she raises her hand back to his mouth and oh, it's rich and sweet and freely given. His other hand slowly crosses her side and rises to her breasts, soft like heaven and wet and sticky, and as she spreads the milk on their skin, he understands that letting it wasting away so frivolously is a step towards freedom for her. She takes her hand back, his saliva mixing on her skin with their sweat and the milk she gets out, and he starts kissing her plush lips, then her jowl, his hand spreading the wet mess on her belly. 

She pushes him to sit on the pile of rags in the corner, kneels in front of him, and strokes his head while he kisses all over her chest, his strong arms holding her hips, pushing valleys in her flesh. His jaw is alien, sleek and strong in her hand. She asks him if he could help...?, and he gets from the way she orients his head that it's with emptying her breasts, so he latches onto a nipple, and it makes her shiver in a way she never thought touching her poor nipples could. When she feels the pressure gone, she gently switches sides, and when he feels her hand on his head pushing away a second time, he lays her down on the rags and keeps kissing and gently stroking her stomach and waist (because this is not about the milk, even if he can still feel the traces of sweet on her skin and his tongue). He’s getting lost in the delicate softness until she can't take any more and pushes him away, so she can get rid of her skirt and lower wrap. 

When the last rays of sunshine leave the room, they are lying on the floor, with her fluids on his face and his on her belly. He is tracing reverently the fine, silky lines on her tighs (apparently she didn’t even have to cut herself for them? It’s a miracle!) , with her hand playing on his scalp. She thinks about the milk being just like the other wets on them, spent in selfish abandon, and grins towards the defeated spectre of Joe.

**Author's Note:**

> edited a bit since I've put it on the kinkmeme. sorry for the fade-to-black. and the lack of expertise on how lactation actually works.


End file.
